


Dances among the clouds

by intyaliel



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, No actual Martinhok happening here, This Is Sad, fair warning, if I have learned anything from this it is that I am not a good bard, it's just HEAVILY implied, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intyaliel/pseuds/intyaliel
Summary: Trapped inside an inn during a blizzard, a bard tells a curious young child the story behind a song about the ghost of a woman who lost her love.Years later, the (still very curious) Dragonborn finds out the truth.
Relationships: Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil/Martin Septim
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Dances among the clouds

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> This is the first fanfic I've posted in ages, and the first ever in English, which is not my first language. There will probably be mistakes because of this, so feel free to point them out so I can fix them! Other than that, comments of any kind, especially constructive criticism, are much appreciated :)
> 
> The Dragonborn in this story can be whoever you want them to be, but the Hero of Kvatch is based on my own HoK, Arri, as I wrote this while exploring what would happen to her after the events of Oblivion.
> 
> \- intya

Winter in Bruma is always an uncomfortable affair. It’s too close to the Jeralls, too close to the bitter cold of Skyrim. The Nords don’t mind all that much – they are used to the harsh climate, but no one else ventures outside unless they have no other choice. This goes for Jovian as well, especially with the blizzard outside not showing any signs of letting up. There are worse fates than being trapped inside a tavern, though. He is a bard after all, even if he’s just playing for the owner’s child at the moment, keeping them distracted from the howling of the wind. Children are so easily scared, he knows, but this one, at least, seems to enjoy his songs.

“What’s this one about?”, they ask from their spot on one of the tables as soon as he starts playing again, brown eyes fixed on his hands.

Jovian smiles. They’re good with melodies, and they ask about the song whenever it’s one they don’t recognize. “Well, it’s a sad one”, he replies. “I’m not sure you’ll even like it.”

“But you’re going to sing it to me anyway! So tell me!”, they pout.

He sighs fondly. “If you insist... I don’t know the whole story myself, you see, because this song is hundreds of years old.”

He watches their eyes light up with interest.

“Really?”, they ask.

Jovian nods. “It’s sung in Bruma every year, near the end of Evening Star, because that’s when the lady who inspired it appears. She’s a ghost, I think, of a woman who lost her love. Do you know the ruined temple in the mountains above the city? You can see it on a clear day.”

The child nods. “The one where the Blades used to live, right?”

“Right”, Jovian says. “That’s where she’s appeared every year ever since the Oblivion Crisis ended.”

“What’s an oblivion crisis?”, the child asks. They still seem interested, Jovian notes.

“That’s a very long story, little one. It was a war between us mortals and a Daedric prince, and we won. Maybe I’ll tell you more when you’re a bit older. Anyway, my guess would be that this lady lost someone, and when she died as well, she became a ghost and began haunting the temple. There are several songs like that all over Cyrodiil, you know. The Imperial City has one too, and so does Kvatch.”

“That’s a lot of ghosts”, the child says, frowning. “Will you sing that song to me now? Even if it’s sad. I want to hear about the lady.”

Jovian smiles. “As you wish, little one.”

He picks up his lute and starts playing again.

_She dances among the clouds each year  
Her eyes the color of amber  
To a song that only she can hear  
When the closing of gates we remember _

_In robes of purple and gold she’s dressed  
Her pain they could not be masking  
Through day and night she’ll never rest  
As she pays no mind to time’s passing  
_

_And when you ask why she is dancing  
She’ll say she forgot how to weep  
And when you ask why she is mourning  
She’ll say her dearest was not hers to keep _

_The one that she loved, he haunts her still  
For every room holds a memory  
She cannot forget and never will  
Forevermore she remains lonely _

_And when you ask why she is dancing  
She’ll say she forgot how to weep  
And when you ask why she is mourning  
She’ll say her dearest was not hers to keep  
Oh, if you ask why she is mourning  
She’ll say the dragon was not hers to keep_

Many years later, trying to escape from the mind of a mad emperor, the Dragonborn remembers the song. Sheogorath started rambling almost as soon as they got here, and then they made the mistake of interrupting him.

But they can’t help it, when Sheogorath describes Martin Septim’s sacrifice, him turning into the avatar of Akatosh, as ‘hardly sporting’, so they blurt out “Hardly sporting? He saved Tamriel!”

They know they’ve made a mistake right away, and they instantly back away, because Sheogorath is... angry, and changing, and something he wasn’t a moment ago.

“Hardly sporting indeed”, he hisses, “Because he didn’t even give me a chance to stop him, and then he was gone and dead and he left me and I died too, but then again, I can’t really die and I wanted to -”

And as Sheogorath’s voice rises, the man fades away, and in his place is a woman in a dress of purple and gold, with red hair and eyes like amber, and she’s staring at the Dragonborn, looking like she wants to cry. But the Dragonborn knows with absolute certainty that she can’t, because she forgot how to cry, is no longer human enough to know how to do it, and they wonder if old Jovian is still alive, and if they’ll ever get to tell him that the ghost wasn’t a ghost at all. Carefully, they take a step closer to the... Madgod? They’re no longer sure who Sheogorath really is.

“I’m sorry”, they whisper, because they’re not sure what else to say. “Truly.”

“I can’t even dance anymore”, Sheogorath mutters. “They ruined it. They took Cloud Ruler from me, and now the good memories are fading and I...”

She trails off, the anger slowly draining from her, and as the anger fades, so does the woman, and within a few moments, the other Sheogorath returns.

“Sorry about that one”, he says, as if nothing had happened. As if the Dragonborn hadn’t just found out what became of the Hero of Kvatch, who was presumed dead after vanishing from the Imperial City, and who is dying, yet cannot die. “She still gets out sometimes”, the Madgod continues. “One of the nastier side effects of someone else being you, I suppose. I wouldn’t speak to poor Sanguine for years because of her, too, can you believe it? Years! Now, where were we?”

The Dragonborn leaves the mind of Pelagius Septim III. with the Wabbajack in hand. They are certain they will never have reason to use it, but if they keep it next to the small shrine to Akatosh they have built in their home, well... nobody needs to know.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @intyaliel on tumblr. Come scream with me about all things Elder Scrolls!


End file.
